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  Again, he reached for the remote. He clicked through a dozen more channels and stopped on a sit-com that was older than me. "The girl," he repeated. "Who was she?"

  From the TV, canned laughter filled the room. It was hard to think, and even harder to speak.

  Sammy gave me a sideways glance. "You know her?"

  I knew lots of girls. But there was something in his voice that I didn't like. It was setting off a whole series of alarm bells that sliced through the fog. Somehow, I made myself mumble, "What girl?"

  Sammy smiled, showing lots of teeth. "Hospital girl."

  I didn't like that smile, and I didn't like his tone.

  Sammy clicked off the TV and turned sideways in the chair. He gave me a good, long look. "You playin' dumb?"

  Was I? I wasn't sure. My voice was thick. "Hospital girl?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Cute. Maybe eighteen, twenty. Blue jacket. Nice hair."

  I almost smiled. She did have nice hair. It probably smelled like summer. It looked like summer. Probably felt like summer too.

  Sammy gave me a hard look. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

  I gave a slow shake of my head. It hurt like hell, but I worked not to show it. Another dose of drugs, and I'd be out all night. I gave a slow blink. "The nurse?"

  "No." Sammy's voice was deadpan. "Your sister."

  The joke might've been funny, except I had a sister. She was barely a teenager, and I'd been working like hell to keep her safe. Sammy knew this, which was why he'd mentioned it. It wasn't just a joke. It was a reminder. Call it a warning.

  But wasn't the point. Not now, anyway. Because even through the fog, I knew damn well who he meant. The girl on the sidewalk. The girl in the hospital. They were the same girl.

  I recalled her telling someone – more than one someone, come to think of it – that she was my sister.

  At the memory, something nice and warm squeezed at my heart. She should've left me. But she hadn't. When I got out of here, I decided, I'd look her up, maybe see if she wanted to get a coffee or something.

  That's what nice girls did, right? They got coffee? Or lattes. Or whatever.

  Sammy spoke again. "I saw her. You forgetting that?"

  The warmth faded. I made myself think. Where did Sammy see her? Inside the hospital? My mouth went dry. Or outside, on the sidewalk?

  Shit.

  The hospital room wasn't a big deal. But the sidewalk, that was a problem. She might've seen Sammy. She might've seen Trick. She might've seen the SUV, which come to think of it, belonged to the boss.

  "Cut the bull," Sammy said. "A girl like that? You don't forget."

  He was right. I wouldn't forget her. But Sammy needed to and fast. Stalling for time, I made myself mumble, "The girl from the hospital?"

  "Yeah. A friend of yours?"

  "Nah." It was true. I didn't even know her name. Not yet. But somehow, I'd find out. She had amazing eyes. And that voice. So damn sweet.

  Sammy gave a low chuckle. "Girl had nice tits."

  Under the covers, I felt my fingers tighten, struggling to form a fist. Too loose. Damn it. I wanted to smash that fist into his face and watch his teeth go flying. It wasn't just the comment. It was something in Sammy's voice, and not just lust.

  But I needed to be smart. Not for me. For her. "Yeah?" I mumbled. "You get her number?"

  My fingers tensed. Or her name? Or her address?

  "For me?" Sammy laughed. "Or for you?"

  I opened my eyes and forced out a weak laugh. "Me. I saw her first."

  Sammy leaned back in his seat. "Yeah? And where was that exactly?"

  I kept my gaze unfocused. On purpose? Or for real? I still wasn't sure. "Huh?"

  "Where did you see her?" His gaze hardened. "First."

  "First?" I squinted up at him. "The E.R." It was a lie. But was it a good one? I sure hell hoped so. I made myself ask, "You?"

  Sammy looked at me for a long time, and then shrugged. "Eh, it don't matter. Didn't get her name."

  With an effort, I choked down my sigh of relief. Sammy picked up the remote and gave it a click. Noise from the TV filled the room. Sammy kept on clicking, and I felt my eyelids grow heavy.

  She was safe. For now. But this was no time to get sloppy. I had to get the hell out of here, like yesterday.

  Watching the screen, Sammy spoke again. "Forget her."

  As if I could.

  "Girl like that," he continued, "too much work."

  Maybe. But a girl like that? She'd be worth it.

  Sammy gave a low chuckle. "I saw her folks." His lips twisted. "On their way to Aspen."

  I tried to think. Aspen. The ski place?

  Sammy snorted. "Stopped by to give her some jewelry."

  "Jewelry?" I mumbled.

  "Yeah. Some necklace. Looked like the real deal. Worth a grand, maybe more."

  A thousand dollars for a necklace? Sammy would know. He had a brother who fenced things like that on the side. I tried to think. Who had that kind of money?

  Not me.

  But she did, obviously.

  He spoke again. "The way it sounds, someone crashed her Porsche."

  Her Porsche? How much did those things cost?

  More than I had, that's for sure.

  Sammy was shaking his head. "Rich bitches. Go figure." He stopped with the clicking, and turned to give me a long, steady look. "Of course, the boss might like her. Name or not, he'd track her down." He smiled. "And if she talks, she won't be getting no more jewelry."

  His gaze bored into mine, and the bullshit fell away. And that's when I knew. He had seen her on the sidewalk. And if she ever came up, he'd be seeing her again.

  And so would the boss.

  "You wanna be smart?" he asked.

  No, I wanted her.

  But a girl like that, would she want me?

  No. She wouldn't.

  I was a first-class fuck-up. She was a rich girl, slumming out of pity. Funny, it hadn't seemed that way at the time. But did it matter? I'd die before putting her in danger a second time. Because the way I saw it, I owed her my life.

  "You listening?" Sammy asked.

  I might have nodded, but I couldn’t be sure.

  As the fog rolled in, Sammy's voice carried through the mist. "Do yourself a favor. Like I said, forget her."

  So I tried. Not for my sake. For hers.

  Chapter 8

  Now, she was my neighbor – a fact I was trying to forget. She hated me. And she was nothing like the girl I remembered.

  Forget her.

  "Excuse me?" Brittney said.

  We were standing in my gourmet kitchen. Brittney and Amber – dressed way too fine for a Friday night barbecue – were leaning over the granite countertop, showing lots of cleavage in their slinky black dresses.

  I was dressed in jeans and marinating steaks. I looked up. "What?"

  Brittney frowned. "Forget who?"

  Great. So now, I was muttering to myself? Damn it. That girl – Chloe – was messing with my mind. "No one." I shoved aside the marinade. "Pour us some wine, will ya?"

  Brittney's lips formed a pout. "But you never answered my question."

  "Forget it," I told her. "Business stuff."

  It wasn't far-fetched. When it came to business, I was busy as hell. Endorsements, events, merchandizing deals – they were piling up¸ and I'd been too distracted to do them justice.

  Even tonight, this whole thing was a mistake. I'd only invited Brittney and Amber to avoid a scene in front of Chloe. Now I was stuck entertaining them for how long? An hour? Two?

  Shit.

  Maybe I should pop the steaks in the microwave, zap them for five minutes, and call it good.

  My stomach roiled at the thought.

  Amber pushed away from the counter and stood, looking around my kitchen. "Something smells good." She giggled. "You didn't do all of this for us, did you?"

  I didn't do anything. My housekeeper had thrown together some potato dish and put it in the oven on her way out
the door. She'd also left a salad in the fridge and cheesecake wedges on fancy plates, topped with something she called a raspberry drizzle.

  I shook my head. Drizzle. What the hell?

  "It wasn't me," I told them. "It was the housekeeper."

  Brittney was nodding. "My mom has a housekeeper too. Three of them, in fact."

  I gave her a look. "Three?"

  As for me, I had a weekly cleaning service, the regular housekeeper for daily stuff, a lawn service, a pool guy, and some hired drivers for special occasions.

  Come to think of it, who was I to judge? If Brittney's mom wanted a dozen housekeepers to feed her grapes, why the hell should I care?

  "She's a busy woman," Brittney was saying. "And she entertains a lot. Politicians and stuff." She smiled. "She's a bank president, you know."

  I was barely listening. "No kidding."

  Brittney made a sound of annoyance. "What's with the microwave?"

  I gave it a glance. It looked the same as always. I turned to Brittney. "Nothing. Why?"

  "Because you keep staring at it." She gave it another look. "Is something in there?"

  "No." I grabbed the platter of steaks. "I'm gonna throw these on the grill."

  Amber spoke up. "You want some company?"

  From somewhere outside, I heard the low rumble of thunder. "Only if you don't mind getting wet."

  Brittney leaned forward and gave me a sly smile. "What if I'm already wet?" She turned to Amber. "How about you? Are you wet?"

  Amber glanced down at her dress. "I don't think so. But my umbrella's pretty big, so…"

  Brittney rolled her eyes. "Forget the umbrella. Seriously."

  I glanced toward Amber's umbrella. It was sitting, still open, in the hall just outside the kitchen. It was huge and neon pink with black ruffles. If only I could forget it.

  Amber was staring at it, too. "Forget it? Why?" She turned to Brittney. "Because it doesn't match your purse?"

  Brittney's mouth tightened. "In case you didn't notice, my purse is a Louis Vuitton." She threw back her shoulders. "It goes with everything."

  Amber eyed the purse, which was sitting on a side-table near to the umbrella. "A Louis Vuitton?" She cocked her head. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure," Brittney said.

  Amber shook her head. "Not with that pattern. It's not even centered." She lowered her voice. "You didn't buy it off the street, did you?"

  "No," Brittney said through gritted teeth. "I didn't buy it off the street."

  "Honestly," Amber said, "I don't think it's real." She winced. "Sorry."

  Brittney's gaze slid to me.

  I was still holding the steaks. I shrugged. I didn't give a rat's ass whether the purse was real or not.

  Brittney tossed a strand of long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Forget the purse." She looked down at the steaks. "Those look yummy."

  Yummy?

  Brittney made a show of licking her lips. "I just love meat. The bigger the better."

  Again, I glanced at the microwave. The thing was pretty sophisticated. Maybe it did have a steak setting.

  Brittney's voice cut into my thoughts. "Oh, you go on." She made a little shooing motion with her hands. "Grill. Do your man-thing. We'll pour the wine and wait." She looked toward Amber and said, "Right?"

  Amber nodded. "Right." She turned to me. "You want the umbrella? I'll hold it if you want."

  I didn't want the umbrella. Or the company. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I sure as hell didn't care if my hair got wet. Waving off Amber's offer, I strode out the patio door before either of them could follow.

  Outside, it wasn't quite raining. But there was a cold drizzle that would keep any sane person indoors.

  Sane? Apparently, that wasn't me.

  Like I didn't know that already.

  Standing barefoot on my wet patio, I lit the grill and waited for it to warm. It would take at least ten minutes before I could throw on the steaks, but I wasn't going anywhere. I glanced toward the house and gave a shudder. Better to risk freezing my ass off than listen to another purse discussion.

  Through the back windows, I saw Brittney reading Amber the riot act. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but the look on Brittney's face said it all. She wasn't happy. Because of the purse? Probably.

  Why Amber put up with Brittney's crap, I had no idea. Maybe it was the whole twin thing. They weren't twins for real, but they were sorority sisters. And they did look alike, especially on nights like tonight, when they dressed the same.

  I eyed their tight black dresses and felt myself frown. Were they going clubbing after dinner? I shook my head. Not with me, they weren’t. I was tired of that scene and even more tired of Brittney.

  If she wasn't Amber's friend, she wouldn't even be here tonight. But I'd known Amber for a long time, and I liked her in limited doses. I'd call her a friend, which was why I'd made a point to not sleep with her.

  Easy lays? Those were a dime a dozen. But friends were something different.

  As far as Brittney, I'd known her for only a few weeks. I didn't like her. She wasn't a friend. And I still didn't want to sleep with her – no matter how good she looked in that skin-tight dress.

  When the grill was hot enough, I threw on the steaks and glanced at my watch. Ten minutes to cook, a half-hour to eat, and maybe an hour to hang out afterwards. By nine o'clock, they'd be gone, whether that had been their plan or not.

  I was just flipping the steaks when something made me pause. It was the sound of her voice – Chloe's. And unlike the last time I'd seen her, she sounded just like the girl I remembered.

  Chapter 9

  Her voice rang out across my back yard. "Chucky! You come back here!" She sounded flustered, and maybe a little amused.

  I stopped and listened. Chucky? The dog? It had to be.

  I hadn't seen the dog or Chloe in nearly a week. There was a reason for that. I hadn't been looking, no matter how much I'd wanted to.

  Cold turkey. That was my approach. No looking, no thinking, no wanting.

  I didn't need her.

  Or that's what I thought, right up to the moment I heard her voice, sounding exactly like the girl I'd met at the hospital. I turned to face the sound.

  By now, I knew where she lived – in the two-story Tudor with the long, winding driveway. We shared a back fence, whether she realized it or not.

  Standing barefoot on my patio, I squinted through the trees. I saw nothing. But I did hear something, a playful yip followed by Chloe's voice calling out, "Chucky! You come back here this instant!"

  I nodded to myself. Chucky. It was the dog, alright. I couldn't help but smile. The way it sounded, he was having the time of his life.

  As for Chloe, it was hard to tell. "That's not funny!" she yelled, sounding like she wanted to laugh in spite of herself.

  The laughter in her voice sounded all too familiar. When I'd been lying, half-dead, how many funny stories had she shared? How many soothing words? How many secrets?

  I recalled the Polish grandmother and the kid brother who was smart as hell. I felt her hand on my arm and heard her voice in my ear.

  Now, standing in the drizzle, I felt myself frown. Weird. She hadn't mentioned her parents. Was that because they were rich, and I obviously wasn't? Was that why she'd never told me her name? Maybe she didn't want to be found?

  I shook off the distraction. She was so painfully close, just the other side of that fence. Damn it, I had to see her.

  I turned toward the grill and grabbed a knife off the nearby platter. I hacked into the largest steak, sawing off a bite-sized chunk. I turned and hurled it toward the back fence, watching as it disappeared into the darkness.

  When nothing happened, I turned and did it again, and again, wiping my hands on my shirt when my fingers got too slippery. Before I knew it, the steak was gone, and my shirt was a mess.

  Like I cared.

  A steak? A shirt? Replaceable.

  Chloe. Definitely not replaceable.
>
  I was hacking into the second steak when I heard a yip, followed by the rustling of leaves. I turned to see a brown fur-ball slam into my legs.

  I couldn't help but laugh.

  Good dog.

  When I crouched down to ruffle his fur, he leapt up onto my chest, catching his claws on my T-shirt and gnawing on the soggy fabric. I heard a rip as the fabric gave way, leaving the dog tangled in a mess of cotton and steak juice.

  I was laughing my ass off when the patio door flew open. I looked up to see Brittney standing in the doorway. "Oh my God." She eyed the dog. "What happened?"

  Shit.

  I had company. Funny, I'd almost forgot.

  I looked down at Chucky. With a playful growl, he sank his teeth into my fallen T-shirt and gave it a good long shake.

  I had to smile.

  Dog one, shirt zero.

  In the patio doorway, Amber's face appeared next to Brittney's. She stared at the dog for a long moment. "Is that your shirt?"

  I shrugged. It was my shirt. Now it was a chew toy. Not a big deal. As for me, I had exactly what I wanted – an excuse to see Chloe. But how to go about it? Holler over the fence? Walk the dog back? Drive him in the car?

  Brittney's voice cut into my thoughts. "I've seen that dog before. Haven't I?"

  That's right. She had. Earlier this week, she'd been standing on my porch when Chloe and her friend had walked by with Chucky.

  Double shit.

  I didn't care what Brittney thought, but I did care about logistics. She needed to be gone, like now. Amber too.

  Yeah, it was a dick move. I got that. But I'd make it up to them later. I glanced at the girls. Well, I'd make it up to Amber anyway. Brittney could kiss my ass.

  I frowned. Not literally.

  I bent down to scoop up the dog. Chucky. He squirmed briefly in my arms before settling against my bare chest. When I looked down, he lifted his head and gave my chin a noisy lick.

  "Eauw," Brittney said. "Is he trying to eat you?" Her voice rose. "You should put that thing down. It might have rabies or something."

  Ignoring Brittney, I looked toward Amber. "Bad news," I said. "We lost the steaks. You want a rain-check?"